


sunday mornings

by lionsenpai



Category: Final Fantasy XIII
Genre: F/F, Fangrai Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 22:10:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1527497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionsenpai/pseuds/lionsenpai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the coffee is left cooling on the counter top and no one cares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sunday mornings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gypsii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gypsii/gifts).



Morning hits you like a truck.

You stutter awake at 9:06 in the morning, naked and in a tangle of sheets that aren’t yours. The pillows smell like lilacs and there are two picture frames on the nightstand: the Farron sisters and the group photo from Dajh’s eighth birthday. But Lightning is nowhere to be seen.

You thrash beneath the sheets, but save shoving your head under the pillow, there’s nothing you can do to block out the light that’s filtering through the too thin curtains. You try that, but all you get is the smell of her, and that just unsettles you, so you pull yourself up and give a great yawn.

"Damn," you say, stretching and rolling your shoulders. "Won’t even stay to cuddle."

It’s with a bit of difficulty that you disengage from the covers, but when you do slip free, you realize, again, that you are very naked. You spot your shirt in the corner of the room, your jeans at the foot of the bed. You’re sure your underwear is somewhere in that tangle of sheets, but you don’t feel like digging, so you just give another exaggerated yawn and make for the bathroom.

It’s very tidy, much like the rest of her place, but you can tell she’s already been through here. There is toothpaste set out for you and a toothbrush as well, and you think,  _What a sweetheart. She doesn’t want me to have morning breath._

You figure, hey, easy enough and start to brush your teeth, examining yourself in the mirror while you wash the taste of fuzz off your tongue. 

There are marks on your neck where she bit too hard or sucked too much and more on the slope of your breasts. If you cared to, you’re sure you could find a couple more on the insides of your thighs, but you don’t think you need to check. You remember her placing those there quite vividly.

Suppressing a shiver, you spit the foam into the sink and run a hand through your tangled hair, deciding its high past time to find your girlfriend.

It does cross your mind, the thought that perhaps you should gather up yours clothes and get dressed, but really, you aren’t feeling clothes anymore than you are this whole waking up without her thing. So instead, you throw open her closet, reach for the first robe you can find, and pull on the black satin one her sister gave her for Christmas, silently thankful that at least Serah is thinking about her sister’s sexual well-being.

Then you embark on your quest, eager to find her and drag her back to bed, or either wake up with lazy kisses on her couch. That thought sends a pleasant hum through you, and you think, okay, maybe bed can wait.

Really, you don’t have to go very far. She’s in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee and the morning paper at the counter, a pair of grey sweatpants hanging from her waist and a loose, white tank covering her top. She’s wearing a bra.  
  
(You tell yourself you aren’t surprised—of course she’s dressed. That doesn’t stop yourself from wishing she’d been a little less conservative and opted for something a little more fun.)

Lightning looks up when you enter, your bare feet not so quiet on the tile floor, and she gives you an extra long stare when she notices what you’re wearing.  
  
“Morning,” you say, taking a place next to her, your hip to hers, your shoulder knocking against hers.

She takes a sip of coffee and turns to greet you, leaning up to give you a quick kiss on the lips. It makes your cheeks and chest alike burn, thoughts returning to her couch. She draws back while you’re still stuck looking, and she smiles and asks, “Couldn’t find your clothes?”  
  
“Mhmm,” you hum, leaning in and kissing her on the cheek for good measure. She takes it with a smile and then turns back to her paper. “They’re in there somewhere,” you say.   
  
She hums right back at you, something of a smirk tilting at the corners of her lips.

"Not the best wake up I’ve ever had," you comment idly, leaning in to look over her shoulder at the paper. You catch the scent of lilacs and have to resist the urge to bury your face in her hair. "What good are Sundays if you don’t sleep in?"

"You’ve had worse," she says. "And I was coming back."

"With a bra? You’re killing me, Light." You roll your whole head back, groaning.

She sets her paper down on the counter, turning to look up at you, and gives you a half smile. Her lips are very close, and you can smell the coffee on her breath. “Had plans for me, did you?”

"Not this early," you admit. "But eventually."

"Get back to me then," she says, turning away, taking the newspaper in her hand and bending to lean on the edge of the counter.

The loss of her presence hits you hard, and you find yourself following her even before you find the clarity of mind to speak. “Hey now,” you say.  
  
You set a hand on her hip, slide the fabric from her shoulder, and lean down to press your lips to her skin. She shifts from one foot to the other, looking up from her paper and letting out a long, content sigh. She pushes back against your front, and you trail slow kisses up her neck.  
  
“It’s still early,” she says, shivering just a bit at the fleeting touch of your tongue against her skin.  
  
You splay your fingers across her waist, spreading them wide and pulling her back toward you. She comes willingly, setting her coffee down on the counter before her, and you start stroking small circles against the curve of her hip. “Yeah,” you tell her, catching her lips in a long, unhurried kiss when she turns to look over her shoulder at you. “I thought you liked early.”  
  
Lightning just smiles softly. “It’s not so bad,” she breathes in soft agreement while you bend and kiss her jaw.

She hums, and you can feel the sound of it on your lips. She fits you, you think, feeling the heat of her even through the satin robe and marveling at how right this feels.   
  
You set your hand on the edge of the counter, the other working up from her hip to slide under her shirt, making shapes on her stomach. She shudders and pushes your hand away, turning to murmur something to you over her shoulder, but you catch her lips before she can start and kiss her again.   
  
You keep your fingers on her, tracing shapes and swirls over her side and up the curve of her spine. She exhales softly into you, setting one hand against the countertop and arching forward just enough to let you know she’s enjoying herself.

You hit her bra and stop, though, breaking from the kiss even as she rubs her tongue against yours, the taste of her more than enough to make you want to keep going. “Wish you’d dressed more for the occasion,” you mumble, pressing your face into her hair.   
  
“I didn’t know there was going to be an occasion,” Lightning replies, eyes closed and lips pulled up in a gentle smile while you work at the strap, undoing it.   
  
You  _hmph_  into her hair, inhaling the scent of her shampoo, and then trail your fingers down and up her spine again, taking your time. She shivers just a bit when you graze your nails over her skin for half a second and again when you finally reach around to slip your hand beneath the loose fabric of her bra and cup her breast.

Lightning gives a soft sigh, twitching beneath the press of your fingers. It’s all familiar, so right that you feel your heart jump and it has nothing to do with the way she’s closing her eyes and starting to breathe hard or how hot she’s grown against you, her cheeks a rosy pink. You bury your face in her neck, smelling lilacs and kissing the skin so soft you leave yourself yearning for more.

"Fang," Lightning breathes.

"Hmm?" you ask, your lips against her neck, your fingers playing her nipple between them.

"I thought you said," she starts, lets out a whispering sigh, and then regroups. "There was going to be an occasion."

 _Well damn_ , you think.  _Figures she’d be awake and ready to go at nine in the goddamn morning._

"Course, sweetheart," you say, the softness in your kiss giving way to the gentle scrape of teeth over skin.

Her sweatpants are near as loose as her shirt, so you don’t have much trouble dipping your hand down the front, seeking her clit with two fingers and feeling the wet warmth of her arousal. She gives a trembling moan, deep in the back of her throat, and goes taut, gripping the edge of the counter for support.

Her breathing comes in short, shallow gasps, and she rocks her hips against your fingers, twitching forward when you’re stroking her just right, and you just wrap your other arm around her waist, flush against her and leaning to trail your tongue along the shell of her ear.

She comes up on her toes, hips jerking, and you reach for her nipple while you keep pressing at her clit, turning your head into her hair and breathing deep, saying, “Morning, Light.”

Lightning lets out a sound like  _oh_. Her body trembles, and she leans forward, holding herself on the edge of the counter and gripping the handle of the cabinet. She takes quick, sharp breaths, stolen only when she raises her head to stutter, “T-that’s— _yes_ , Fang,” and it’s all you can do to keep your face pressed to her hair, your fingers circling her clit just like she wants.   
  
You graze your fingers over one nipple, and she breaks, dropping suddenly and leaning heavy on the countertop, her head down and her breath coming quick and fast.   
  
She pulls herself up with help from the cabinet handle, straightens her back and inhales deeply, you right at her back to keep her steady. “You okay there, soldier?” you ask.  
  
Lightning shivers, but after a moment she turns to kiss you. Her fingers thread into your hair, and you can still taste her coffee, if only faintly. “That was awfully nice of you,” she says when she draws back. Her cheeks are red, her blue eyes glassy and warm. There’s hair sticking to the curve of her jaw, the dip of her neck.   
  
“Yeah?” you say, pushing her hair back behind her ear. “I was feeling pretty good after last night.”   
  
She pushes herself up, one hand on your shoulder and the other cradling the side of your face, and she gets right by your ear. Her voice is light and airy, almost lyrical, and her breath is warm against your skin.   
  
You smell lilacs and hear: “We should go back to the bedroom now, Fang.”

"Yes ma’am."

**Author's Note:**

> i meant to post this a month ago. funny how that works.


End file.
